


Old Man Solomon

by EP1



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Old Age, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EP1/pseuds/EP1
Summary: Solomon chose to cast a spell to age along side the woman he loved. Barbatos has come to take him home on the day of her funeral.
Relationships: Barbatos & Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Barbatos/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Old Man Solomon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DevildomCafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevildomCafe/gifts).



It was time.

Knowing the day was coming did not make it any easier for Barbatos to endure. He prepared to leave for the mortal realm, taking extra care with his appearance. Glamour would do to mask his demonic traits, but with the clothing, he preferred the personal touch. He was aware he was simply delaying the inevitable. That awareness, however, did not stop him from adjusting the cufflinks a third time before sliding the suit jacket over the perfectly pressed shirt. All excuses out of the way, Barbatos opened the portal and stepped through.

The sunshine was bright, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes. It was not the first time he had needed to transport himself to this place, but today would be the last. He dismissed the gateway and moved away from the stand of trees that protected his arrival from prying eyes, slowly making his way up to the entrance of the Compassion Acres Care Facility.

The woman working the desk looked up as the doors slid open. She greeted him with a kindly smile, rising from her seat. “Bart! I’m so glad you made it in time! Your grandpa was worried that your flight might be delayed and you wouldn’t make it” The matronly woman popped out from behind the desk and wrapped her arms around him. He endured the awkward hug, his body stiff, just as he feigned a smile at the consoling words she offered next. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Barb nodded and held his tongue. His loss? The death she referred to was no loss to him. If anything, he wished that it had happened far sooner. He let none of that show on his features and followed her down the hall to where his ‘grandfather’ waited. She patted him on the shoulder before leaving him in front of the door.

The demon knocked on the door, steeling himself for what he knew he would find on the other side. It never got easier. He heard the muffled call to enter and pushed the door inward.

The room was small and had two single beds, one stripped down to a set of threadbare sheets. The air smelled like that of a hospital, recycled and full of the scents of industrial cleaners. Despite the small touches that made this room a home, like the crocheted throw folded neatly on the end of one of the beds, the blooming azalea on the windowsill and the shelves that almost bent under the weight of the books that lined them, this place still looked like what it was. Somewhere to wait to die.

Though Barbatos smiled, his eyes freely showed his contempt for this place. It was not fitting for the man he had come to see. He did not belong here. It was not worthy of the sorcerer that once ruled from a palace, seated on a throne. He managed to keep those feelings and thoughts from creeping into his voice however as he greeted his friend, lover and pact mate, “Solomon.”

The sorcerer turned, a smile lighting up his face upon seeing the demon. The smile was the only thing that had remained almost unchanged. His hair, though it had always been silver, was now dull and thin, and though he was not bald, the hairline had receded, almost changing the shape of his face entirely. His eyes were no longer bright and clear, age having clouded them, and hidden them behind the frames of thick glasses. Though none of that could diminish the spark of wit and intelligence in those eyes that had witnessed the birth and fall of entire civilizations. Time had carved lines onto his face, turning his once smooth skin into a textured road map of his life, though if the marks near his eyes were any indication, it was a life that had been full of laughter.

“Barbatos.” The single word that passed Solomon’s lips spoke volumes. The demon could hear how much he had been missed. Guilt stabbed at him, sharp and deep because the time between his visits stretched longer and longer until he was as negligent as the grandchild he pretended to be. It has been hard to respect Solomon’s wishes to grow old with the woman he loved. Though he had missed his pact mate down to the deepest core of his being, watching Solomon allow his body to age, and succumb to the frailties and ailments that came with it… it pained him.

“You thought my flight was going to be delayed?” Barb asked, closing the door behind him before frowning at Solomon. He allowed a small measure of his disappointment to seep into his polite tone. “Did you really think I would leave you to face today alone? To say goodbye to her alone?”

“You never approved of my choice, of the promise I made to her,” Solomon answered softly, trailing his fingers along the handmade blanket on his bed.

Barbatos closed his eyes and let out a small breath. “But it was your choice, made freely. Just as I made my choice of my own free will those many years ago. My approval or disapproval has no impact on the matter. I support you, and always will.”

When he reopened his eyes, Barbatos made the choice not to look his sorcerer in the eye. He was unsure how well he was masking his own pain, and Solomon did not need to bear the weight of it, in addition to his own, today. Instead, he turned his attention to the suit that hung on the human’s withered frame. It showed its age just as much as the man himself. “What I will not support is you wearing that. I’m sure we can do better.”

Solomon looked down, brushing his hand against the places where the worn fabric was threadbare. “I should have gone to buy a new one, but…” His voice trailed off and Solomon’s eyes drifted to the framed pictures on the wall, the record of his life with her.

Barb could hear the unspoken words and feel the pain that went with them. But, when she had taken a turn for the worse, and Solomon knew that their time was almost gone, what there was, he had wanted to spend time at her side.

He took two steps, bridging the distance between them. He laid a hand on Solomon’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Time. Time was his domain, something that he had mastered long ago. He could not, would not change things to give Solomon more time with her. There were rules against such things, and as far as Barbatos was concerned, she had stolen enough of Solomon’s as it was. A smile tugged at Barb’s lips, now the suit, on the other hand, now that he could fix.

He closed his eyes once more and allowed the tiniest measure of his power to flow from him. All things hold memory, and in the threads of the fabric, the suit still remembered its youth. Time flowed backward, the damaged threads strengthened and the fabric regained the crisp charcoal colour it had when it was new.

“There,” Barbatos said firmly, opening his eyes again. He reached over and undid the tie. It was fastened in an imprecise fashion that irked him. Whether it was due to haste or shaking hands did not matter, what mattered was there was no way in any of the realms was he letting his pact mate leave this room looking like this.

Solomon looked up at Barb, his eyes showing gratitude and relief that needed no words. When the tie was knotted once more, Solomon laid his hand on top of the demon’s, squeezing it gently. Despite all the nonverbal signs to the contrary, Solomon still protested, “I haven’t forgotten how to dress myself. My mind is fine, thank you very much.”

Barbatos ignored the words, tugging the tie one last time to make sure it was perfect. “Now, you look like you are ready to go.” He offered Solomon his arm. “Shall we?”

They walked together down the hallway, Barbatos being very careful to shorten his stride and match his pace Solomon’s. Each of those adjusted steps was another reminder that the spell Solomon had cast on himself was not an illusion. The pained way his pact mate favoured his right leg was not a clever misdirect.

Barbatos did not understand it. Oh, he understood the motive behind it. Love, he understood. Wanting to spend all of one’s days with someone, feeling incomplete when they were away. Those feelings he was intimately familiar with. But, he did not understand why Solomon chose to actually age and not just mimic it for the sake of appearances. Why subject himself to this pain? And was he blind to the fact he was inflicting agony on others as well?

As they sat in the taxi that was taking them to the cemetery, Barb tried to push his own suffering aside and just focus on supporting Solomon. But it was hard when everything reminded him of what this time had cost not just Solomon, but those who cared for him. Even as the streets passed by the window, Barb could not help but feel the way Solomon’s joints were swollen beneath the skin and wonder if he could even still manage the precise movements required for spell work. It was a good thing that this spell had a failsafe and that Barbatos had been trusted with its care.

When Solomon had conceived of this idea decades ago, Barbatos had thought it was foolish then. It was not the first wild whim the immortal sorcerer had ever conceived of. Some of the things he’d proposed during his reign as king had been ridiculous. Barb had not approved of this idea, not because of any sense of jealousy, no, he had objected because he could see no value in Solomon's needless suffering. He was confident in the bond he had formed, secure in how he felt and how Solomon returned those emotions. Though they were bound by ties of magic, their relationship was so much more than what the sigil on Solomon’s skin represented. They were friends, companions, lovers, all of those things and more. There was no word that amply described what they were to each other. So, though he did not like it, this was a choice Solomon had made, and Barb had accepted it and respected his right to make it. The spell would only last the lifetime of a single human woman, less than a century. Nothing more than a tiny inconvenience in the long life the demon and the sorcerer had shared.

As Barbatos helped Solomon out of the car and led him to the rows of folding chairs that had been set up by the grave, he reflected on how wrong he had been. He had not been prepared to see his immortal sorcerer fade before his eyes. The changes had been so gradual at first, so small that anyone who hadn’t been intimately familiar with every aspect of Solomon’s form wouldn't have even noticed. Those little changes stung, mere papercuts, but as the years passed, those little wounds on his heart bled more.

As people started to arrive, Barbatos focussed more on his surroundings, fixing a look of quiet sadness to his features. He sat at Solomon’s side and accepted the offered condolences of the arriving people with a nod, or a soft-spoken thank you. The chairs filled up quickly and were not enough for all those who wanted to say goodbye.

He was grateful that it was a memorial only, and he would not be subjected to readings of the bible, or prayers led by a holy man. Today there would only be remembrances of the woman that had passed, and how she and Solomon had touched the lives around them. Some tales brought fond smiles, others a laugh from the crowd. As sad as this moment was, there was joy to be found in the memories.

During one of the longer stories, a child in the row behind them started to fidget. It was understandable, this was not a fun thing, and trying even to the attention span of full-grown adults. The chair under the boy would creak as he shifted his weight from side to side, and as things progressed he started kicking out with his feet, occasionally striking the back of Solomon’s chair.

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed as he heard the sharp intake of breath marking the pain that brought Solomon. He turned his head toward the child, his expression darkening, but a light touch from the sorcerer stopped him from doing or saying anything further.

Solomon’s smile was gentle, and he looked back at the bored boy, mischief sparking a twinkle in his eyes. He winked, pulling a gold-wrapped candy from his pocket. He offered it to the child, grinning conspiratorially. Softly, so to not to disturb the person currently speaking, Solomon thanked the boy for coming, and that he was really glad that he was here and that she would be glad too. Then, giving the child a couple more candies to get him through, the sorcerer returned his attention to the memorial.  
Barbatos laid his hand on top of Solomon’s and shared a smile with him. Witnessing that little moment, reminded him, though honestly he never needed a reminder, how much he loved the man sitting beside him. He wanted to lift that hand to his lips and press a kiss against the tender time ravaged skin and had to stop himself, remembering that he was supposed to be Solomon’s grandson.

When all the goodbyes were said the people slowly drifted away. Some gave Solomon firm handshakes and others leaving faint traces of lipstick imprinted on his cheek. As the last of the guests retreated to their vehicles, Barbatos was left alone with Solomon.

The gentle smile that had stayed on the wizard’s lips, faded slowly, and his eyes glistened now that there was no longer an audience. He rose from the chair and declined Barb’s offered arm. Step by shaky step, Solomon approached the carved stone that marked his wife’s resting place.

Barbatos wanted to help him, but this too was Solomon’s choice, and he would respect it. If he wanted the illusion of privacy while he said his final farewell to the woman he had shared his life with for decades, Barb could grant him that. Keeping his distance, he watched as his pact mate placed a hand on the headstone, using it to steady his descent to his knees. Now the tears fell, and Solomon’s breathing grew ragged as his chest was racked with sobs.

The afternoon light faded and the sky’s hue deepened to a velvety twilight before Solomon spoke. “I promised you we would share this life, and I’d walk every step at your side, that we would face every struggle together.” He paused and gathered the strength for the words that came next. “But where you go now, I cannot follow.” He hung his head and spoke the last words in a whisper that was barely audible to even Barbatos’ ears. “I’m sorry.”

There was nothing that could keep the demon from Solomon’s side now. His feet moved without being consciously directed and he dropped to his knees too. He pulled his sorcerer’s trembling body against him. Barbatos pressed a tender kiss on Solomon’s hair. He had no words of comfort to offer. They would sound false coming from his lips, for he did not mourn her, and hearing Solomon apologize for not being able to join her in the grave hurt. Instead, his touch would need to be enough.

As the air started to cool, Solomon nodded his head with a sense of purpose. He brought his fingers to his lips, kissed them and then traced them along the grooves in the stone that bore her name. “Goodbye, love.”

Barbatos rose to his feet first and then helped Solomon do the same. It was over. This chapter of the very thick book that was the sorcerer’s life was over, and it was time to turn the page. It was time for Solomon to discard this form, and all the frailty and pain bound to it. It was time for Solomon to take a break from this realm and come home. Well, at least to the place that Barb called home.

Ensuring there were no prying eyes to witness their departure, Barbatos opened the portal that would take them back to his room in the palace. Solomon said not a word, just took advantage of both the physical and emotional support of his demon as they took slow steps through the gateway.

Neither spoke as Barb ensured Solomon was seated in his favourite armchair, the one he always chose to settle in to read in the evenings when he did come to visit. Barb took his time, giving Solomon some space to think and process while he made the room more comfortable. Once the fire had been lit, the tea had been brewed, and the plate of pastries he had set aside this morning placed on the side table within his pact mate’s reach, only then did Barbatos go into his wardrobe.

His touch was almost reverent when he reached for the item that Solomon had entrusted him, the one that would break the spell cast decades ago. Solomon’s cape. As he pulled it out of the polished wooden armoire, its colours shifted either as a trick of the shadows or as a result of the enchantment laid on it, seamlessly moving from black to blue with the occasional specks of metallic gold sparkling like stars against the dark fabric. He folded it over one arm and approached Solomon.

“Are you ready?” Barbatos asked.

Solomon looked up at the demon, and Barb knew he was not going to like the answer when his pact mate did not immediately speak. Instead, Solomon carefully set the teacup down and shook his head. “No.”

Barbatos closed his eyes and bit back the growl that wanted to emerge from his lips. Why? Why was he clinging to this form? What purpose did it serve? She was no longer alive to see it. He was no longer surrounded by people who would be suspicious of his eternal youth. Why was he continuing to endure this form?

“No,” Barb repeated. He pulled a second chair into a position where he could sit and look Solomon in the eyes. He sank into it, trying to find the words to calmly express how he was feeling. Because he doubted that a primal scream of frustration would accomplish much. He laid the cape on his lap and smoothed the fabric with his hand. “You have kept your promise to her. You journeyed by her side as far as you could go. Why do you hold tight to a body that is failing you, trapping you?”

“I’m not ready yet,” Solomon said, his voice was firm, and his eyes full of determination.

“But why?” Barbatos asked again. “What is the value of remaining that way? All I can see is the way your breathing is laboured, and how you keep shifting because the chair no longer comfortably supports your hips. I can see your fingers tremble when you raise your hand to slide glasses you should not need back up your face.” He paused and tried to hold onto what little composure he had. “Explain to me, why I need to continue to watch someone I love suffer.”

Solomon was quiet, seeming to choose his next words with the same level of care that the demon had used. “Do you think I don’t understand what you are feeling right now? I have stood in your place, witnessing someone I love wither away before my eyes and known there was nothing I could do to stop it. I would say countless times, but every single person is etched on my heart, their lives are woven into the tapestry of mine, I know the number.”

“If you understand it, then why are you prolonging your suffering and mine?” Barb demanded leaning forward in the chair.

“You see this as a useless husk, withered and failing. That is not what I see. That is not what I feel.” He looked down at his hands. “I see the twist in my index finger from where I broke it trying to build a birdhouse. The ache in my hip reminds me of our second honeymoon and the parasailing accident.” He touched his stomach, where extra weight hung slightly over the belt of his pants. “This is from the fact she had a sweet tooth, and I found it impossible not to indulge in the treats she brought home.” His hand then wandered up to his face and removed his glasses. He held them in his hands staring at them for a moment before folding the arms closed and setting them on the table. “These glasses, she chose the frames. She thought it made me look distinguished.”

He met the demon’s eyes. “This body is not useless. It bears the trophies and scars of the life I lived with her, and I am not ready to give it up yet.”

Barb was silent. Words failed him when he needed them the most. The moment grew long and heavy, and that silence between almost unbearable. He dragged his fingertips slowly along the fabric and thought about Solomon’s words.

The creaking of Solomon’s chair drew Barbatos’ eyes upward. Solomon moved toward the fire and stared into its depths. He had his head cocked, the way he did when he was trying to solve a puzzle. When he had sorted his thoughts, he nodded once and turned to face the demon. “Would you make me?”

Barb shook his head and echoed it back. “Would I make you?”

“If I chose to keep this form, with all its faults and scars, would you accept that?” Solomon asked.

Barbatos had seen Solomon’s form bow several times since escorting him from the place he’d called home. He had seen the weight of age and time make his shoulders slump, and sorrow literally bring the sorcerer to his knees. What he saw now, was truly something he’d never witnessed before, not once in their long relationship. Solomon looked insecure.

The cape slid to the floor, forgotten in his haste to rise. He stepped toward Solomon and cradled a cheek in his hand. “Why would you ask me that?” The words came out harsher than he intended, and in his rush to counter whatever thoughts were tormenting Solomon, Barb took no time to soften. “I have watched civilizations rise and fall at your side. I have seen you as a prince and a pauper and loved you at both your best and your worst. How can you think that something as trivial as this would change any of that?”

“You made your pact with me when you knew I was as timeless as you,” Solomon replied, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “Would you still have tied your life to mine if you’d known I would age and fade away?”

Barbatos tightened his hold on Solomon’s face, tilted it so that the wizard had no choice but to meet his eyes. “There is no reality, no timeline in which I would not have loved you. I know this for a fact.”

He leaned in, lips seeking to prove what mere words seemed inadequate to do. He would drive that look of doubt and unease from the eyes he loved so well. The demon had meant the kiss to be tender, however, the moment he could feel Solomon’s breath against his skin, his intentions didn’t matter anymore. It had been far too long since he’d felt the touch of his pact mate, too long since he had tasted his lips.

The hand that had been cupping the wizard’s cheek found its way into his silver hair, gently positioning him to make it easier to deepen this kiss. Gentle did not last long, Barb pulled Solomon tightly against his body, letting his pact mate feel exactly how much he had been missed, how much he was desired and how little the body he chose to inhabit affected that desire. He only broke the kiss when both of them were in need of air.

Barbatos smiled, his eyes glowing softly in the shifting shadow of the fire-lit room. He shifted his hand once more, running his fingers through Solomon’s silver hair. He almost frowned as his exploration revealed the traces of a scar hidden from sight. With a smile, he moved the hair away and kissed it. “Tell me about this one,” he asked. When Solomon hesitated, Barb found his eyes again. “I want to know.”

If Solomon was worried that his demon would not accept all that he was, be it his body or experiences that were lived in it, then Barb was going to reassure him. When he was done, there would be no room to doubt he loved all of his human, every second of his life and every inch of his skin.

He listened, as intently as he had ever listened to anything, absorbing the tale Solomon spun about the old head injury, and when he was done speaking, Barb took one of his pact mate's hands and raised it to his lips. He kissed the crooked finger and looked up through his lashes and asked, “And tell me why you were building a birdhouse?”

One by one, he coaxed the stories of the life Solomon had lived, a life that Barbatos had not been interested in before now. He had thought he could ignore it, that it would be nothing more than a brief road bump in their time together, but Barbatos now knew he was wrong. This time was going to be an integral part of who Solomon was, a thread in the tapestry that made the man who he was. Barb wanted to be able to laugh with him, and to cry with him when Solomon remembered this time in his life.

He led the sorcerer to the bed, and slowly eased him from his clothes. Each mark, Barbatos demanded the tale of, and he lavished attention on the physical remnants of the memories. When the stories brought tears to Solomon’s eyes, the demons would kiss them away. Eventually, words faded away entirely, no longer necessary as they succumbed to the need to touch and be held by each other.

Solomon fell asleep, safe and sated in his lover’s arms. Barbatos continued to run his fingers lightly along his skin, watching the rise and fall of his chest. It had been an exhausting day for the man who had once been a King.

His eyes sought out the cape, forgotten and abandoned on the floor. It could go back to the closet. When Solomon was ready for it, it would be there, but Barb would no longer push. There were teas and tinctures that could ease the aches and pains Solomon suffered. The demon would keep Solomon comfortable and happy. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by the way these two characters are portrayed on the RP server I am on. Inspiration for this came from a day when we were teasing our Solomon and calling him Granddaddy.
> 
> I can't say i enjoyed writing this, but it sprang to mind and was so very clear I had no choice but to put it in words.
> 
> Yes, the other fics are still being worked on. Over the holidays, I was too overwhelmed and sadly where the Beel timeline was all the characters were also overwhelmed so I just couldn't do it. And trying to sort out emotionally where the others were in the other timelines was beyond me at the time.


End file.
